


Pearls

by Synekdokee



Series: Mafia AU [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Boy toy!Connor, Human AU, M/M, Mafia AU, Marking, Mob boss!Hank, Smut, references to past prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 19:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: His stomach is full of butterflies - he hasn’t seen Anderson since last night, and he’s scared one look at Connor will make Anderson change his mind. Perhaps he’ll realise Connor was essentially  an impulse purchase. Perhaps he’ll return him to Zlatko’s.





	Pearls

**Author's Note:**

> This part comes waaay before the previous part I posted here. You can see all the posts for this AU, including when they met, [here.](https://twitter.com/i/moments/1074761839240724484) (For those new to twitter, if you click the three dots in the right hand corner of the Moment, you can access the full tweet thread.) This follows immediately after the scene where they leave the club.
> 
> Mild trigger warning for this AU for the fact that Connor starts off as a sex-worker in seedy circumstances, and Hank essentially buys him for his own use. The past prostitution is on Connor's mind a lot in this installment, but the fic doesn't go into it in detail.

Anderson keeps his hand on Connor’s thigh the whole drive. Connor enjoys the attention, and doesn’t bother being subtle about the way he studies his new owner.

Connor tries to pin Anderson’s age down, guessing somewhere around 50. He’s nothing like Connor’s usual clients, who, even at their best, came in tacky suits and smelling of cheap booze and cheap aftershave. He’s dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, the black of it only broken by the red silk of his tie. His hair is tied in a neat ponytail, and the way he carries himself tells Connor he’s a man used to being respected.

If half the things Connor has heard of him are true, he suspects that respect is usually accompanied by fear.

Connor’s not scared. Intimidated maybe, but whatever Anderson wants from him, it can’t be worse than what Zlatko’s clients put him through. As far as Connor is concerned, for now, Anderson is his saviour.

Connor reaches out a hand to Anderson’s tie, feeling the fine material under his fingertips. Anderson gives him an amused look, squeezing his thigh lightly, almost as though in reassurance.

The car pulls to a stop, but Anderson stays put until the driver opens the door. He pushes Connor out with a gentle but firm hand, and Connor shivers in the cold air in his sparse outfit, pressing himself close to Anderson.

“Guess we’ll have to get you some clothes,” Anderson says, shrugging his coat off and draping it over Connor’s shoulders. It’s warm and heavy on his shoulders, and Connor can smell the hint of an expensive aftershave. He buries his face in the lapel, and he’s rewarded with Anderson’s arm wrapping around him.

Connor looks up at the house, taking a few steps back in an effort to take it all in. It looks old but well maintained. Pillars and ornate framings decorate the main entrance and the windows, and each window is lit with a warm glow.

“Your new home,” Anderson says, watching Connor. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” Connor says honestly, and Anderson’s mouth twitches with what looks like satisfaction.

“Been in my family for generations,” he says, putting his hand on the small of Connor’s back and leading him towards the entrance.

The door opens, and Connor ends up face to face with a very striking looking man in his 30s, with two piercing, mismatched eyes. Connor finds himself staring, and then blushes as he looks away.

“Markus, this is Connor,” Anderson says, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “He’s a little keepsake Zlatko gave me.”

Markus gives Connor a once-over, eyebrow raised.

“Gave him to you, huh?” He muses, and Anderson chuckles.

“Well, perhaps there was some reluctance. Can’t blame him,” he says approvingly, and Connor shifts as they eye at him.

“Pretty thing, isn’t he,” Anderson adds, and Markus huffs.

“You know that’s not my thing,” he says dryly, and then, clearly to please his boss; “But yes, he is very pretty.”

“Thank you,” Connor says coyly, batting his lashes for good measure, and to his satisfaction Markus blushes a little.

Anderson and Markus lead the way inside the house, and Connor trails after them, tuning them out as he takes in the huge foyer, the stone floors and the looming staircase. He cranes his neck to look up at the molded ceiling and the huge chandelier hanging in the middle of it.

“Connor,” Anderson says, tone commanding. Connor startles and looks to where Anderson is hovering in a wide doorway.

“Markus will show you where everything is. Spend tonight getting settled,” he says, and Connor hears the dismissal in his tone.

“Yes, sir,” he says obediently, and tries not to feel disappointed. Having Anderson’s attention was… a little intoxicating. Having someone with that much power look at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world was like nothing Connor has ever experienced with his clients.

 

He follows Markus through the house. He’s shown the kitchen, the dining room, the library and the living room. There’s a movie theatre too, complete with rows of plush, velvet covered seats.

“Mr Anderson enjoys his classics,” Markus drawls, and Connor gets the impression Markus may have been forced to sit through one too many old movies.

 

Connor’s room is upstairs in the east wing.

“Mr Anderson’s private quarters are down the hall. You have no reason to enter them, and they’re guarded day and night,” Markus says, giving him a pointed look. “But he did request your rooms to be located near him - here we are.”

Markus unlocks a solid wooden door and then hands the key to Connor.

“Oh,” Connor breathes, stepping inside.

His quarters are unlike anything he’s ever lived in. The bed alone is bigger than some of the apartments he’s had, and it’s been tidily made up with a pile of pillows and what looks like a very fluffy comforter. Connor would like nothing more than to climb in and curl up and go to sleep.

He’s aware of Markus following his every move, and there’s an amused look on his face. He clearly finds Connor’s peasant-like wonder funny.

“I’m not sure what Mr Anderson wants of you,” he says, and then clears his throat. “Aside from the obvious,” he adds, and when Connor looks at him he seems a little embarrassed.

“But just so you know,” Markus continues, “Mr Anderson doesn’t like his… staff being lazy. Be up before noon, by eight if you want to join everyone for breakfast. Dinner is served at six - if you’re hungry in between, you can bother the kitchen staff or make something yourself. Dinner is mandatory - Mr Anderson is very adamant about it. Helps nurture loyalty,” Markus smirks.

“Yes, sir,” Connor says, folding his hands in front of him. The sleeves of the coat slide down to cover his wrists.

“Mr Anderson probably told you the rules - you may go outside, but don’t leave the premises. We have gates for a reason.”

Connor nods, and then looks down, fiddling with the edge of the coat.

“I need clothes,” he says uncertainly, and Markus winces.

“Yeah, that’s… we’ll take care of it, don’t worry. We’ll have something for you by morning.” His expression softens then, something like sympathy replacing the cool, businesslike demeanor.

“There’s no sugar-coating why you’re here,” Markus says, tone soft. “But Mr Anderson isn’t unnecessarily cruel. Don’t cross him and he’ll treat you well. Better than Zlatko probably did, that’s for sure.”

“I know,” Connor says, giving him a wry smile. “Thank you.”

Markus smiles. “Once you get to know him, he’s not that bad of a boss. And when he’s not under stress, he can be quite funny.” He gives Connor a grin, and then moves to the door. “I’ll leave you to get settled. I’ll ask Mr Anderson about the clothes, they’ll be here in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Connor nods, and Markus shuts the door behind him.

Connor does a quick circle of the room. There are three doors - one leads to a bathroom that contains more marble (and a large faux-antique tub) than Connor has seen in his life. The second leads to a small room with a few bookshelves and a plush, silk-covered armchair by the window.

The third door opens to reveal a walk-in closet, currently empty and smelling of polished wood. Some of the drawers have locks on them, and Connor huffs out a laugh. He’s never owned anything worth safekeeping, and what little he had was left behind at the club.

The windows of his rooms give out into the dark gardens. He can’t make out much, aside from an area covered in an abundance of fairy lights. He’ll see them tomorrow, he decides.

There are towels in the bathroom, and Connor strips out of his outfit, folding Anderson’s coat neatly on the counter.

The shower feels good, and the turns the temperature hot enough to turn his skin pink. The showers at Zlatko’s had been as grimy as the rest of the establishment, and washing away the filth of it makes him feel like he’s shedding an old skin.

He doesn’t want to wear his dirty boxers, and he shoves them in the trash with the socks and the garters. Once they’ve been taken away, nothing of his old life will remain.

The thought is freeing.

 

Connor takes Anderson’s coat to bed with him. He burrows under the down comforter naked, breathing in the clean smell of clean cotton, and then arranges the coat on top of the covers.

He falls asleep warm and comfortable, surrounded by Anderson’s scent.

 

There’s a knock on his door, and it jolts him out of a deep sleep. He glances at the clock on the bedside table and realises he’s slept for nine hours uninterrupted.

“Yes?” He calls out, and the door opens, revealing a man with blond hair and a kind face.

“Hi, I’m Simon,” the man says, pushing in a cart full of boxes and shopping bags. “Mr Anderson said you might like something to wear today.”

Connor stares, jaw slack, at the piles of packages. “Is that all for me?”

Simon laughs, smoothing his hair back, looking a little exasperated.

“Mr Anderson had them delivered. I think he likes his, ah-” Simon falters, floundering. “Uh, _companions_ to look nice.”

Connor chews on his bottom lip. “Are there others besides me?” He asks, and pretends it’s not jealousy he’s feeling. He’d been stupid to think he’d been special, when Anderson could have a new toy for every night, all of them prettier than Connor, with his money and influence.

Simon blinks. “No, not in the house. I don’t know about Mr Anderson’s personal business outside these walls, but he doesn’t have a habit of bringing his, er, partners home.”

“I see,” Connor muses, feeling relieved.

At least here he won’t have to compete for his livelihood.

 

Simon leaves him alone with his new clothes, and Connor loses track of time opening the packages and bags and organising the contents, kneeling on the floor with his comforter wrapped around him waist.

He’s never had a wardrobe this versatile. Aside from the more casual items like jeans and t-shirts and soft, warm sweaters, there’s a good number of button downs, in cotton and silk, black and navy slacks, neat jackets, ties and underwear, and even comfortable lounge wear.

It’s not until he has nearly everything unpacked that he notices a bag from what he recognises as an expensive lingerie chain - and a small box in recognisable Tiffany blue.

Curious, Connor takes the bag and the box to the bed, sitting on the edge of it as he places the box down.

He digs into the bag, and buried in amongst the sheer silk paper is a bundle of midnight blue satin. Connor pulls it out, and is hit with a jolt of arousal.

It’s a babydoll, and clearly tailored for a male figure, lacking the cups in the chest area. Connor purses his lips and stands up, slipping the garment over his head.

The cool satin ripples against his skin, settling on his frame nicely. The hem reaches just his mid-thigh, making for an enticing look. Connor moves closer to the mirror on the wall opposite him.

The deep blue colour looks good against his pale skin, the sheen of the satin flattering the flat planes and sharp angles of his body. He turns his back to the mirror and bends forwards, looking back over his shoulder. The hem rises, exposing the curve of his buttocks, and he thinks about what Anderson would think of the display.

Arousal thrumming in him, he returns to the bed and picks up the Tiffany box, pulling the top off slowly.

Inside, nestled on white velvet, is a silver chain and a pendant. He lifts the pendant by its chain, pulling it between his fingers to hold it. It’s a simple design in smooth, polished silver, the tag mimicking that of a military ID. On the back there’s an inscription,

“ _To Connor,_  
_The latest jewel in my collection._ ”

Connor laughs, face heating with pleasure. He wonders if Anderson really dictated the carving himself, or if that was one of his servants.

The front of the tag is plain and even like a mirror, except for the half a black pearl embedded in the silver. Connor slips the chain around his neck, the tag settling against his sternum, cool on his skin.

He looks at himself in the mirror, sitting amidst his silk and cotton bedding, clad in nothing but blue satin and a silver necklace that must have cost more than Connor’s life possessions put together.

He knows nothing has really changed. A whore is a whore, no matter how nicely dressed. But sitting in what he’s allowed to call his own room, surrounded by so many nice things, feeling more attractive in the satin babydoll than he did during all his time at Zlatko’s, Connor is sure Anderson will be different than the men who’d used him in the past. If not, he certainly can’t be worse.

He sighs, pulling off the lingerie. He picks up underwear and a pair of slacks and a white cotton button down, and heads downstairs, dressed in his new clothes.

 

Breakfast has long since been served, but Connor is given a bowl of fruit salad and a cup of strong, black coffee by one of the kitchen workers. He eats on the patio looking out to the garden, wrapped up in a blanket. The mild winter chill makes the coffee taste even better, and Connor lets himself enjoy the moment. He doesn’t know how long this will last - he knows he’s nothing but the latest shiny toy, and people grow tired of their toys eventually.

For now though he gets to act like a free man. He wanders through the house, familiarising himself with the rooms, and realises this isn’t a place where he’ll run the risk of growing bored. Everything Connor can imagine needing is here, and there’s no one to order him around, no one to touch and grope and grab him and treat him like he doesn’t have a mind of his own.

Anderson’s men treat him with casual respect. They don’t seem to pay Connor much attention, aside from Markus and a handful of others who are polite and friendly with him.

Connor is used to being lonely, but at least here he’s surrounded by people who, at least to him, aren’t fueled by cruelty and greed.

Whatever happens outside of this house, Connor has no knowledge of. Everyone is careful to keep discussions about Anderson’s businesses away from Connor’s ears. The lack of trust doesn’t offend him - he’s a stranger to these people.

 

Before six Markus finds him in the library reading a book from a large collection of Nordic crime novels. Some of them have been autographed with dedications to Anderson, and Connor finds himself tickled by the idea that the head of one of the largest crime families in the States is a fan of Nordic thrillers.

“Dinner will be served soon. You can walk with me to the dining room,” Markus says kindly, and Connor nods, setting the book down.

His stomach is full of butterflies - he hasn’t seen Anderson since last night, and he’s scared one look at Connor will make Anderson change his mind. Perhaps he’ll realise Connor was essentially an impulse purchase. Perhaps he’ll return him to Zlatko’s.

The thought makes him nauseous as he sits a few seats down from the empty seat at the head of the table. He doesn’t want to return to the club. He doesn’t want to go back to selling his body.

 _You are selling your body, just at a steeper price_ , he reminds himself, and then pushes the thought away. It’s different here. Even if the freedom is just an illusion, being Anderson’s whore is a tenfold improvement.

Anderson enters last, and everyone stands up to greet him, Connor included. Connor tries to make himself small, but Anderson notices him right away, his steely eyes trailing over him.

“I see the clothes fit you,” Anderson says when everyone is seated.

“Yes, sir,” Connor says softly. “Thank you, that was very generous of you.”

Anderson gives him a hint of a smile, and then moves to address Markus, and Connor finds himself forgotten.

The food is good though. He eats quietly, listening to the others talk around him.

At times he feels Anderson’s gaze on him, and when he looks up Anderson doesn’t turn away. There’s something hungry in his eyes, and at Connor’s blush he smiles, the curve of his mouth sharp and full of promise. It lights a warm curl of arousal in Connor’s core.

 

Connor retires early. His bathroom has been filled with toiletries (including an electric toothbrush, something Connor has never owned before. It gives him an odd jolt of satisfaction, for such a trivial thing), and his new clothes have been neatly organised in the closet. His bed has been made too.

It’s odd, and not entirely pleasant. He wonders if he could make a request to keep his rooms private. He wouldn’t mind having to clean them up for himself.

He slips into the babydoll, enjoying the way it looks on him, and curls up with the book he’d taken from the library.

The grizzled, alcoholic detective has just found a body in the snow when someone knocks on Connor’s door.

He doesn’t even have time to react before the door opens and Anderson enters.

“Going to bed early?” Anderson asks, and Connor puts the book on his bedside table, sitting up against the pillows.

Anderson sees the blue satin, nodding approvingly. “You like it?”

Connor looks down, pushing the covers down to his knees to show the garment better.

“Yes, very much,” he says shyly. “Thank you.”

Anderson hums, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“How are you settling in?” He asks, reaching out to touch the chain around Connor’s neck, pulling on it to lift the tag up. Connor’s pulse picks up, tension coiling in his gut.

“I’m doing well. It’s - everyone’s very nice, and the house is perfect,” Connor says, watching Anderson turn the tag in his fingers.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Connor says, touching Anderson’s hand lightly, giving him his most charming smile.

“No need to thank me,” Anderson says, voice low, and a shiver of anticipation travels down Connor’s spine. He sits up, pulling his legs underneath himself, and leans in to kiss Anderson, hands on his broad shoulders.

Anderson lets out an approving sound, one large hand coming to rest on Connor’s waist, sliding against satin.

“That’s my boy,” Anderson growls, gripping Connor’s hips and tipping him back until he’s flat on the bed, legs parted on either side of Anderson’s hip.

Connor pulls his knees up, feet planted on the mattress, and the hem of the babydoll slides up to his hips, exposing his soft cock.

Anderson inhales, nostrils flaring as he stares down at Connor, and then he shifts on the bed until he’s kneeling between Connor’s thighs.

“Smart kid,” Anderson says, hands caressing Connor’s bare skin. He grips Connor’s buttocks, pulling them apart to reveal Connor’s hole, and brushes a thumb over it.

Connor sighs, shifting a little under Anderson’s gaze, his cock beginning to harden.

“I’m going to have to dress you up real nice some day,” Anderson murmurs, voice low and gravelly, sending arousal thrumming through Connor. “I bet you’d look like a treat stockings.”

“Whatever you want,” Connor says, eager to please, and brings his right hand up to play with his nipple through the satin.

“I was planning on having you perform for me a little,” Anderson says, sliding his hands back to Connor’s thighs, and then up, squeezing his waist lightly before trailing up his sides, over the ridges of his ribs. “But it’s been a long day, and I bought you for a reason.”

Connor nods, reaching down to tug on his cock lazily. “How would you like me?”

“Just like this,” Anderson grunts. “Has the housekeeping been here?”

“Yes,” Connor says, and contemplates bringing up the issue of privacy, but decides the timing is bad. He watches Anderson lean back and towards the nightstand, yanking the drawer open and pulling out a bottle of slick.

“Oh,” Connor says, mouth slack. “You really did think of everything.”

Anderson laughs, tossing the bottle on the bed. He reaches back into the drawer, and the pauses.

“Are you clean?”

Connor tenses.

“Yes, sir. Unprotected sex was… strictly forbidden at Zlatko’s. At least for the highest tier of product,” he says, distaste clear in his voice.

Anderson gives him a long look, unreadable to Connor. Then he pulls his hand away from the drawer, empty.

“You had no business being in that establishment,” he says, voice hard. “Like giving pearls to swines. Worse yet - Zlatko had a diamond in his hands and he covered it in so much shit he couldn’t even recognise it for what it was.”

There’s venom in his voice, not directed at Connor, and it sends Connor’s heart racing, his chest tight.

“Sir,” he says softly, and then Anderson is on him, kissing him hard and gripping his hip with a possessive hand. Connor moans into the kiss, wrapping his legs around Anderson, trying to pour all of his gratitude into every point of connection.

He can smell Anderson, that expensive aftershave blended with a hint of sweat and musk, and he’d like to drown in it, to give himself completely to his owner. Anderson’s beard rubs against his jaw and cheeks, along his neck when Anderson kisses him there and then bites hard enough to draw a shout from Connor.

Anderson pushes himself up, taking Connor’s hand and drawing it to his belt.

“Take me out,” he orders, and Connor doesn’t need to be told twice.

He undoes the ornate silver buckle with deft fingers, feeling eager. He pulls down the zipper carefully, eyes flickering to meet Anderson’s steady gaze.

Connor smiles his sweetest smile as he reaches inside Anderson’s boxers, wrapping his fingers around his half-hard cock and drawing it out carefully.

He can’t quite swallow down the soft sound that wells from his throat at the sight of Anderson’s dick in his hand, swelling to full hardness.

“I love your cock, sir,” Connor says with honesty, shifting his hips impatiently. “Will you fuck me?”

The slight tremble he sees in Anderson feeds his ego, and he tilts his head back a little, exposing his neck, and looks at Anderson under half-lidded eyes.

“Please?” He says, and Anderson growls, gripping his thigh and folding it close to his chest.

“Filthy little thing,” Anderson grunts, maneuvering the bottle of lube open with one hand.

Connor hums his agreement, playing with the tip of his cock, just a little stimulation to keep his blood pumping.

He feels the nudge of thick fingers against his hole, and he grunts softly, reminding himself to relax.

Anderson has large hands. The push of two fingers inside him feels so good, and Connor rolls his hips down, trying to get them deeper.

“Sir, you don’t need to be so gentle,” Connor breathes, arching his back slightly.

Anderson pauses, fingers buried inside Connor.

“Is that what you want, or what you’re used to?”

Connor freezes. He swallows hard, trying to dispel the feeling of something heavy forming in the pit of his stomach. He parts his lips but the words won’t come.

He feels the brush of a third finger against his rim, and the only thing he can think to do is to moan out his lust, head thrown back.

Anderson chuckles, moving his fingers out and then back in, this time stretching him open with three.

“That’s what I thought,” he says and leans down, pressing his lips to Connor’s nipple through the fabric covering his chest.

“Sir!” Connor cries out, sinking his hands into Anderson’s hair. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch freely, but he has the feeling he will be corrected if he oversteps.

He needs something to hold on to, to anchor himself to, or something in him will spill, unbidden. He’s never had a client care about his wants or his comfort, and here’s Hank Anderson, the most feared man in the state, touching Connor’s body like a lover’s.

His heart swells at the thought, and he admonishes himself.

 _You’re his whore. Don’t you forget it_ , he reminds himself.

The fingers in him push deeper, fucking him open, but Connor’s greedy for more. He’ll wait, though. He knows how to be obedient.

Anderson mouths at his sensitive nipples through the lingerie, giving them both equal amounts of attention, sucking and nipping until there are two wet spots over Connor’s pectorals. Connor whines and moans, and when Anderson closes his teeth around the puckered flesh, Connor lets out a soft squeal, his cock jerking against his belly.

“So responsive,” Anderson says with approval, and Connor sighs, his nipples hard and aching from being bitten and pulled.

“Enough playing,” Anderson says finally, pulling his fingers out of Connor’s stretched hole. Connor props himself up on his elbows to watch him slick himself up, and then he’s leaning forward again, bracing one elbow on the bedding, face inches from Connor’s.

Connor can see Anderson’s other hand working, and then he shifts and there’s the pressure of the blunt head of his cock against Connor’s wet hole.

Connor falls down flat on his back, groaning when he feels the tip slip inside him. Anderson feels _huge_. He grows thicker towards the middle before slimming down a little towards the base, and Connor feels absolutely stuffed with each added inch sinking into him.

“Sir,” he moans, and Anderson laughs, voice like gravel.

“Not even breaking a sweat, are you?” He says, sounding so pleased Connor’s heart sings with pride. He wants all of him, everything Anderson will give him, and in return Connor will be _his_.

The satin of the babydoll has climbed up to expose his belly, and there are stains on it, from Anderson’s mouth and Connor’s cock drooling over his stomach. Anderson tugs it down a little, caressing Connor through the smooth fabric. He dips his head down to kiss Connor’s clavicles, and then Connor feels his fingers play with the chain of his tag again.

The metal is warm from his skin when it drapes between his lips, and he accepts it willingly, tonguing at the silver chain.

“Do you like it?” Anderson asks, rocking his hips forward suddenly, burying himself to the hilt. Connor gasps, feeling impaled, certain that he can feel Anderson in his gut.

“Yes, sir,” he pants, speaking over the thread of silver.

“I’ll buy you more,” Anderson murmurs, beginning a steady, hard rhythm as he uses Connor’s body, fucking him with sharp thrusts.

“You’re going to know what’s it like to be owned by me. You’ll wear what I want, and if I want you covered in diamonds, you’ll see, people will find a way to make it happen.”

Connor’s panting, trying to pay attention to Anderson’s words even as his cock pounds into him, splitting him wide open.

“I’ll wear nothing, if that’s what you want,” he breathes, staring into Anderson’s blue eyes, and Anderson laughs, breathy and full.

“Good boy,” he rumbles, and leans down to press his teeth into the curve of Connor’s freckled shoulder, biting hard enough that Connor screams, arching his hips.

“You’re mine,” Anderson growls, pressing the flat of his tongue to the mark, tasting Connor. He sucks another bruise on Connor’s throat, and Connor loses himself in the sensations of being bitten and sucked and licked, and the cock pounding into him, dragging over his prostate, opening him up and making himself Anderson’s.

 _Hank’s_ , Connor thinks quietly. He wants to moan out the name, but he knows he’s not allowed. It’s not his to say, and he bites his teeth closed over it, the silver chain falling from his mouth and snaking over his skin.

 _Hank, Hank,_ he chants in his head, digging his fingers into the flesh of Anderson’s back.

“Sir!” He cries out when Anderson presses himself flat against him, pinning him down, rutting into him with hurried jerks of his hips. His stomach rubs against Connor’s cock, and Connor whines, his orgasm building, his balls tight and body electrified.

“Sir, please!” Connor shouts, wrapping his legs around Anderson’s hips, pulling him deeper, desperate for release.

Anderson groans, burying his face against Connor’s throat, and Connor feels him go tense and still, and then he feels the flood of semen well inside him.

 _He came in me_ , Connor thinks, and the thought sends such a visceral jolt of arousal through him that it triggers his orgasm, making him wail as he comes hard, spilling between their bellies.

Anderson stays still, catching his breath, and Connor nuzzles at his hair fondly, petting his wide back. He’d like to stay like this, keep his owner close, keep his rescuer here with him, in him, over him, touching every inch of him.

Eventually though Anderson lets out a tired sound, pushing himself up and rolling off Connor, his cock slipping free with a filthy wet sound. Connor feels the rush of come that follows, dripping down his skin, soaking into the bed. He can’t bring himself to care about having to sleep in it later. Instead he rolls over, throwing an arm around Anderson’s barreled stomach, resting his head on his shoulder.

“Was I good?” He asks, even though he already knows the answer. Anderson curls an arm around his waist and tucks the other one behind his head as he lies under Connor.

“Worth your price,” Anderson hums, tone humourous, and Connor smiles against his shirt.

“Thank you,” Connor says softly, pressing his palm against Anderson’s side. “I owe you everything.”

“You shouldn’t have been in that place to begin with with,” Anderson sniffs. “Not that it’s the kind of business I approve of to being with.”

“A criminal with morals,” Connor murmurs, feeling sleepy.

Anderson snorts. “I prefer to think of myself as a businessman.”

“A very good one, it seems,” Connor grins, and turns his face up to look at Anderson, who gives him a lazy smile.

“I like to think so.”

They stay like that for a moment, and then Anderson sits up, pushing Connor off with gentle but firm hands.

“Go to sleep, you look exhausted,” he says, leaning in to give Connor a short kiss.

“You’re not staying?” Connor frowns, trying to not feel disappointed.

Anderson gives him an odd look. “That’s not the kind of relationship this is going to be, boy,” he says, tone warning.

Connor blushes, sitting up and hugging his knees to his chest.

“I know, sir. I just…” He trails off, trying to find the right words. “I like being close to you,” he says, a little embarrassed.

Anderson huffs out a laugh, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

“Plenty of opportunities for that, I promise. Get yourself cleaned up and go to bed. Join me for breakfast tomorrow,” he says, and Connor gets the impression it’s not a request.

“Yes, sir,” he says obediently, watching Anderson tuck himself back in his trousers and do his belt.

With one final kiss to the top of Connor’s hair, Anderson heads towards the door.

 

“Good-night, Connor.”

“Good-night, sir,” Connor sighs. The door closes with a firm click, and Connor slumps back into his pillows, pressing a hand to his sternum where something fond blooms, new and exciting.

“Good-night, Hank,” he murmurs, tasting the name on his lips.

 

 

The next evening Connor waits up.

Hank comes in late, still wearing his coat. Connor kicks off his duvet while Hank removes his coat, throwing it on the bed before climbing on it, dragging Connor to him by his feet.

It startles something like a giggle out of Connor, and he rolls onto his belly, lifting his ass up and reaching behind himself to bare his slick, stretched hole to Hank.

“Oh, _good boy_ ,” Hank rumbles, and Connor presses his cheek into the bedding, smiling as he hears the sound of a zipper, followed by Hank’s hands gripping his hips.

 

Afterwards Connor lays on his belly, lazy and sated, Hank’s come cooling on his skin, and watches Hank put himself together again. His face is flushed, his silver hair is falling out of its ponytail, and his tie is loose and crooked. He looks devastating, and Connor would like nothing more but to drag him back into bed with him.

Hank leans down to press a kiss to Connor’s shoulder blade, and sets a black box on the pillow by his head.

“Since you liked the pearl,” he murmurs, giving the chain around Connor’s neck a tug.

Connor waits until he’s gone. He rolls onto his back and opens the velvet box.

It’s a pair of cufflinks, adorned with large black pearls. Connor’s heart skips a beat - he doesn’t know a lot about these things, but he knows they must’ve cost Hank a few thousand at least.

He sets the box on the bedside table and lies on his side, looking at the muted sheen of the pearls in the low lamplight.

He’d never thought of the money that exchanged hands at Zlatko’s. He’d tried not to think about it, tried not to remember that he was a commodity, available to anyone for the right price.

Staring at the expensive cufflinks, thinking of the money Hank has already poured into him and his clothes, he feels a strange wave of comfort wash over him. Whenever Hank grows tired of him, whenever it’s time for him to go back to selling himself to stay afloat, for now, he thinks, he must have value.

He’ll never have Hank for himself, but he’ll settle for being a jewel in his collection.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on:  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SynTurtle)  
> [Tumblr.](http://roomfullofcunts.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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